


Sky So Blue

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:59:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everything is everything..." - Phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sky So Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, created for entertainment purposes only and I do not own either the real people, or the fictional characters based off the real people. I am not making money off my work.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it; I believe that writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Thanks to a certain Tumblr user for the lovely quote I used.

“I can’t anymore” – He groans out and bends over, placing his hand on his low back. His dirty grey shirt, thrown over a faded black t-shirt, is unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, skin brown with even, naturally acquired tan.

“Don’t give up on me now, old boy!” – The other one calls out, grunting and slamming a big wooden box onto the edge of the truckbed, - “Two more boxes!”

The first lad gives him a once over for a moment before fitting the box in securely with the others:

“You need some new jeans there, Lou! The ones you’re wearing are all ripped and trashed!”

“A-right!” – the other one agrees cheerfully, slamming another box onto the truckbed, - “How ‘bout I just steal a pair o’yours? You got three pairs there I reckon!”

“They never fit you properly” – The first one smiles bashfully, pulling on the box.

Lou slams the last box into the truck:

“All done now, Haz. Let’s get these bastards outta here before the sun starts going down, shall we?”

“Alright, just give me a second” – Haz walks awkwardly on his long legs in the truckbed, securing a multitude of stacked boxes with a rope. Lou takes off his gloves and examines his rough dirty hands, spitting into one and rubbing a spot on another:

“Want a peach?”

“You’re a peach” – Haz calls out and laughs quietly to himself. He slips off his shirt in one swift casual move and spreads it on the edge of the truckbed. He sits on it awkwardly, bringing his knees almost up to his chin and squinting vigorously at the clear blue sky. The sun is no longer high up above, but the warm early evening is so bright and lazy that he thinks he might just be habitually imitating the actions of his old rugged cat, curling up into a furball on a sunlit windowsill, dirty white fur blending in with the cracked yellowing paint.... 

Lou watches him with an amused involuntary smile and proceeds to climb up next to him, where a spot is left in the truckbed, just big enough for him to fit in. They sit for a moment, listening to nothing but the sound of their own breathing.

“Sometimes you wonder where you’d be now if you… you know…?”

“Way back when?”

“Way back when.”

“Yeah.”

They remain silent, looking at the yellow sandy road up ahead, snaking through the orchards into the far-away horizon line. The sun, following its usual path of descent, plays gently in their eyes and matted brown hair. The wind gusts are scarce and rare and the air is lifeless and dry. They share a flask of water.

“Sometimes I wonder if you regret it” – Lou muses, - “You know…that… now you could be doing something you really love… making a difference in the world….”

“A difference?” – Haz chuckles, - “Being a puppet with someone’s hand stuck so far up your ass that it’s moving your tongue is hardly making a difference. I’m making a difference here.”

“You’re tending the orchards…”

“Well, someone enjoys the peaches” – Haz interrupts.

“They don’t know you picked them.”

“Why would I need them to?”

“I thought you wanted to be famous, Harry” – Lou leans back and examines him with a creased brow.

“I did once, yeah” – Harry agrees, giving him a sideways glance, - “I thought I wanted the world to know who I am. But who am I? I’m an average guy, just like the others.”

“You’re not, though. You’re kind and talented and real good-looking, might I add…”

“There’s only one person I wanted to truly know me. Looks like I succeeded in that” – he smiles.

Louis smiles back but the intent look does not leave his face. Harry looks into the distance:

“I know you’re bothered by it. You’re bothered even though I’ve tried to explain to you many times why I did it.”

“I… yeah” – Louis picks a dried leaf out of Harry’s messy hair, - “I’m afraid. That one day you’ll look at all this and ask yourself: “Now why the hell did I choose this?”

“I’d never do that” – Harry says firmly, turning to him again.

“Getting as far on American Idol as you did, Harry, is a huge accomplishment. You know how many record labels wanted to sign you...”

“That accomplishment is no bigger than us buying our own orchard three years ago. And we’re not even in our thirties yet.”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t see how.”

Louis bows down his head and looks at his hands again. His nails are permanently discoloured green, his hands are small and elegant but rough, dirty and dry. 

“I just think… you could have had everything, Harry, and you chose to…”

“No” – Harry says firmly again, looking sternly at him, - “Unless “everything” means different things to us, which I hope it does not. When I looked at the contracts, they promised me … well, a lot of money, a lot of publicity, a lot of things” – he smiles, - “but they didn’t promise me the only thing I want to be sure I’ll have… every day of my life... for as long as I live.”

“What’s that?” – Louis asks quietly.

“You.”

Louis smiles shyly, not looking at him and a faint blush starts spreading, barely visible on his deeply bronzed cheeks.

“They didn’t promise me I could wake up next to you every day, that I could cook you breakfast and you could fix all the things that keep breaking around our house” – Louis chuckles and Harry continues, - “They didn’t promise me you’d make fun of me for being spoiled and I’d make fun of the silly way you Southerners speak. They didn’t promise me the smell and the monthly supply of peaches, our old truck, our old cat that’s oddly still alive long past his scheduled expiration date, they didn’t promise me the sun, the sky above my head, the crickets outside our window. Nothing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would have had none of that. What did they promise me, instead? A bunch of eyes, looking at me, scanning me for faults, judging me, envying me, trying to pry me apart, get under my skin and expose me, and, even if loving me, then in that superficial, artificial way you can admire a wedding dress in the shopping mall window.”

He picks a spear of grass off his shirt strewn on the floor of the truckbed and sticks the stalk in his mouth, letting the fluffy top hang out:

“But I neither need nor want them looking at me. I don’t care who I'd be in their eyes. If I am one grain of sand in the dunes, one little peach in the orchard, so be it. There’s only one pair of eyes that is more important to me that anything else in the world.” 

“And why do you care about my eyes so much?” – Louis meows out, bowing his head and letting his long oily bangs cover most of his face, unable to hold back an embarrassed smile.

“Don’t know” – Harry moves Lou’s bangs to the side with the back of his hand, forcing the lad to look him square in the eye, - “Maybe it's just that they are so very blue.”


End file.
